


minor mending

by thisissirius



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e13 The Seam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: “You didn't want to leave all that, did you?”Quentin’s expecting to die;and realizes at the same time that he doesn’t want to.





	minor mending

**Author's Note:**

> because we deserved better!!!!!!!
> 
> only my second fic in this fandom D:

 

_“You didn't want to leave all that, did you?”_

Quentin’s expecting to die;

and realizes at the same time that he doesn’t want to. 

 

 

Minor mending is a stupid spell, it really is, except when it comes to something as innocuous as a mirror. Quentin knows what happens now, knows he meets his end. It’s not supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to know if Eliot’s alright, he wants to talk to Alice, to see Julia, Kady, give Penny shit. 

He doesn’t want this. 

 _Minor mending,_  he thinks, should be able to fix this. 

Magic is supposed to be good for more than just pain. He closes his eyes, split seconds becoming infinitely long as he moves through the motions, feels his body split into a million different directions. It’s painful, but not as painful as losing his friends, his family. Quentin breathes slow, thinks  _please, this isn’t the end_  and between one breath and the next, he’s standing in the elevator. 

Penny’s waiting. Fuck, Quentin’s never been so happy to see someone in his life. 

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Yeah,” Penny says, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure your magic gave it away.”

There’s a book, Quentin knows, somewhere in the library, writing the end of his story. He should have died so many times, he knows it, but this can’t be the conclusion of his life. He needs more, wishes furiously that he’d died with Eliot in their former life. His chest constricts, he clenches his hands into fists. 

“If I can’t go back, I’ll mend the ending of my story.”

 _Minor mending._ It sounds like such a foolish focus, such a waste of so much magic. Quentin’s beginning to realize it’s so much more important. 

Penny snorts. “Figured that out as well, Quentin. Still, you can’t just mend your story every time you don’t like it.”

“Just this once,” Quentin says,  _begs_. “I gave up my life to save Eliot. I sacrificed so much for Eliot and this can’t be the end. I didn’t even get to say,” he cuts himself off, swallows past the lump in his throat. 

There’s a long, drawn pause and Quentin doesn’t know what Penny’s going to do. He’s not in charge, what can he do, but then he’s sighing, holding out a piece of paper. 

“What’s this?”

“A contract,” Penny says. “You get one more chance. Read it, Quentin. The terms are binding and the Library own you the next time you die. There’s no minor mending your story after this.”

Quentin doesn’t care; he only needs one more try. 

“Penny.”

“Sign it,” Penny says, but there’s a quirk of his lips as he does so. “I’ll see you around eventually.”

There’s a pen in Quentin’s hand and his signature is barely drying on the paper and he’s feeling that same blink and - 

 

 

 

“Quentin.”

Alice. 

Quentin shudders, pain spiking through his head, his body. He feels like he’s still flying apart, but Alice is here, leaning over him, eyes wide and wet, and Quentin breathes out. “Eliot.”

There’s a shift in Alice’s expression, but she covers it quickly. “Don’t move. Penny’s gonna be right back and we’ll get you some help, alright?”

 _Eliot_ , Quentin thinks. He’s not sure if he says it again, but there’s something about the despair on Alice’s face that makes him think he did. 

 

 

 

The next time he wakes, pins and needles irritating his hands and feet, he stares up at a familiar ceiling. 

He’s in Castle Whitespire. He’s in  _Fillory,_  and he’s crying before he realizes it. 

“Hey, Quentin, it’s okay.” Quentin turns his head, swallowing and trying to stem the flow of tears. Fen looks kind and soft, her hand on his shoulder. She’s squeezing gently. “Eliot only stepped out for a second.”

“Eliot,” Quentin says, wincing as he does. His voice sounds raw, used, and he coughs. He sounds as if he’s been screaming for weeks. 

“Yes,” Fen says with a smile. “He’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Exhaustion - it’s been  _so long_  since Quentin’s felt this safe - sets in, and Quentin wants to keep his eyes open, wants to see Eliot, but he can’t make his eyes stay open.

 

 

 

_He was willing to die to make sure the Monster didn’t kill you. His depression’s worse than it ever was. I don’t know if you can fix him._

_It’s not about fixing him. You think I’m a walking example of well adjusted?_

_Quentin was gonna die to save us. He’s tired, Eliot. Exhausted in ways I don’t think anyone else can be. All for you._

_Because I didn’t feel like a sack of shit already, Julia, thank you._

 

 

 

“Eliot,” Quentin says. 

“Q.” This time, when Quentin turns in the bed, his body aching but feeling better than he has in weeks, it’s  _Eliot_  staring back at him.

Quentin can’t remember the last time he felt safe looking at Eliot and he can feel his face crumpling, his eyes wet, and Eliot’s face shifts into hurt, but he’s touching Quentin’s hair, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Don’t cry,” he says. “It’s me, I swear it’s me.”

“I know,” Quentin manages, tangling a weak hand around Eliot’s wrist, feels the steady  _thump thump_ of his pulse and breathes. “God, I missed you.”

Eliot huffs out something Quentin thinks is a laugh but sounds more like a sob. “I’m so sorry, Q. I’m sorry.”

Quentin shakes his head, hates that he can’t make his body sit up and curl around Eliot. He settles for squeezing Eliot’s wrist, for quirking his lips tiredly into a smile. “Stupid. I love you, Eliot. I  _love you_.”

It’s not like the last time, Quentin tells himself. He’s been walking around for half a heart since  _not when we have a choice_  but Eliot’s eyes are bright, something open and happy on his face. “I love you too. I always have.”

“Shit to talk about later,” Quentin says, and this time Eliot’s laugh is solid, a balm to all the hurt Quentin’s felt since -  _since_. 

“We will,” Eliot promises, fingers running through Quentin’s hair, and it’s soothing, perfect, and everything Quentin needs. 

Quentin believes him. “I want to stay here. In Fillory. I’m tired.”

Eliot shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “Talk later, he says, and yet.” There’s a pause and Quentin’s afraid for a moment that he’s not going to get this, but he needs to start trusting that Eliot’s got his heart in his hands and he’s not gonna do anything but cherish it. “We can do that. Think our old home’s still there. Besides,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the corner of Quentin’s mouth. “We have family to meet.”

“Fuck,” Quentin says, feeling his eyes burn again, and he tightens his grip on Eliot. “Peaches and plums to buy.”

Eliot laughs, his own eyes wet as he kisses Quentin properly, holds him tight, whispering, “I’m here, I’ve got you,” and Quentin believes him, thinks for the first time in weeks, months, years, that he gets to be  _happy_  


End file.
